


a clean shave

by ScreechTheMighty



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Pranks, The others are there too just in the background, caleb wants a nap always, molly usually lives for drama but sometimes just wants a nap, past acne, shaving assistance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 06:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13653618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: Jester pulls a prank; Mollymauk has to clean up the aftermath; a few things are noticed about their resident wizard. Ambiguous timeline, no real spoilers, just some suffering season two boys in a drabble idea I couldn't get out of my head.





	a clean shave

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Man I have other fic I should be working on and stuff I promised I'd be writing, I better work on that.
> 
> Also me: Write Critical Role fic you coward.

Mollymauk was used to long days by this point. You didn’t travel with a circus for two years without experiencing long nights, uncomfortable sleeping surfaces, and not always agreeable company. But this past week had _really_ been pushing it.

The rain was a near-constant, slamming down on them, turning the road into soup and getting the cart stuck several times. WC had, at least, been patient throughout the whole ordeal; the same could not be said of Beau, who became more and more of an irritant the longer they were on the road, or Nott, who was apparently petrified of thunder. Caleb grew quieter and quieter with every passing, stressful moment; Jester, conversely, talked like she was trying to drown out the rain by sheer force of will. And Fjord, gods bless him, Fjord arguably had the worst time of it. Those strange dreams that had him waking up with lungs full of salt water happened almost every night. It was unnerving.

But it was over, and they were in a town, and that town had an inn with decent beds and an innkeeper who didn’t ask many questions. They got two rooms—Molly, Caleb, and Fjord to one, Jester, Nott, and Beau to another—and almost immediately went to sleep. Molly barely got his coat, boots, and swords off before passing out.

It was still dark out, or it seemed to be, when he was awoken by the sound of someone giggling in the room.

His exhaustion was, miraculously, a boon—had he been less alert, he might’ve been able to grab his swords, maybe even do some damage. The delayed reaction brought on by his weariness gave him time to realize who was giggling. Jester. Jester was in their room, for some reason, hunched over in the space between Caleb and Fjord’s beds. Molly propped himself up on one elbow and squinted into the darkness. _What the hell is she doing in here…?_

Jester looked up, her eyes meeting his and going wide at the realization that she’d been caught. “…it’s okay,” she whispered softly, waggling her fingers at him. “It’s just a dream.”

It definitely _wasn’t_ a dream, but Molly was too tired to argue with her. He lay back down and pulled his covers up to his ears. _If I just ignore her, she’ll leave…_

And she did, eventually, slipping out so quietly that he almost missed her leaving. _Thank the gods,_ now he could go back to sleep. And he tried, he really did, but then something kept him from slipping back entirely. A warm weight settled onto his chest, accompanied by the tickle of something soft against his cheek. When he cracked open an eye, there was Frumpkin, curled up on his chest.

_Right_ , of course. The cat had been in the room with the girls, to make Nott feel better and on account of Fjord being allergic. He must’ve gotten out with Jester. Molly didn’t mind Frumpkin’s presence, and would have been content to go back to sleep on any other occasion. But it wasn’t just his own comfort he had to worry about. He _could_ go back to sleep, but if he did, Fjord’s sneezing would just wake him back up again.

_Ah, shit._

Molly groaned quietly, moving carefully to avoid dislodging Frumpkin too much as he moved from lying down to sitting up right with the cat in his arms. “C’mon, let’s get you back to Nott,” he whispered. The cat’s purring was nearly enough to soothe him into lying back down, but he powered through to stand and move, carefully, out the door. The others were next door, and Jester, bless her heart, had forgotten to lock the door on her way back. She wasn’t even doing that good a job of pretending to be asleep when he walked in and set Frumpkin down next to a curled-up Nott. He took a second to stop by Jester’s bedside as he did. “Next time look out for the cat,” he whispered. “Bit of a giveaway, eh?”

Jester snored in an exaggerated fashion. She really was adorable sometimes. Adorable and terrible.

Molly passed back out the second he was in bed again.

This time, when he was roused, it was by hands frantically shaking his shoulder. Caleb was there, hovering over him. He looked distressed, though he didn’t seem _physically_ injured. “Th’ _fuck_ …” Molly muttered.

“Was it you? Did you do this?”

“Do wh-“

Oh. Oh, now he saw it. It seemed that Caleb was down to half a beard, somehow.

Molly could understand how Caleb might think he was responsible, but there was no way he was going down for this. Not when Caleb looked as frantically angry as he did. “Jester did it,” Molly said immediately, shrugging off Caleb’s hands. “Saw her in here last night.”

Caleb straightened up and turned around to leave. Molly heard Fjord trying to placate the man, though his voice was trembling with barely-restrained laughter. They both went into the hallway. Molly lay back down and closed his eyes. Damn the sunlight coming in through the window; he’d stay in bed for as long as he could. Not even the slowly unfolding drama in the adjoining room was enough to make him get out of bed, though he was tempted. From what he could tell, Jester was trying to protest her innocence and Beau was laughing her ass off. The argument moved out into the hallway, suddenly becoming louder as the door to their room opened again. “-handle it myself,” Caleb snapped, his accent thicker with frustration. Then, the door was shut again, and locked as well. There was a long stretch of silence before Caleb’s footsteps started moving around the room.

_Has he forgotten I’m here or does he just not give a shit?_

He heard fabric rustling, the sound of water being poured into a basin, splashing against skin. All of that wasn’t enough to provoke him into opening his eyes again. Caleb quietly hissing a curse in Zemnian and the smell of blood, though. _That_ caught Molly’s attention.

“Having trouble?” he asked as he rolled over in bed.

Caleb’s back was to him, but the mirror he was sitting in front of was at just the right angle to give Molly a glimpse of the man’s face. He did _not_ look thrilled. “Mollymauk,” he said, his voice strained, “I’m really not in the mood right now.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but I have no interest in prolonging your suffering.” Molly sat up and stretched, scratching the back of his neck as he contemplated his neck move. “I could help, you know.”

Caleb turned around, and Molly had to bite the inside of his cheek to muffle the laughter that bubbled up in his chest. It _was_ pretty funny, though Molly had to question how in the hell Jester had managed to shave exactly half of Caleb’s beard without waking him. Rather neatly, too, no nicks or anything. There was a fresh nick, but it was on the still-bearded side, the side that Caleb was trying to shave off. After the week they’d had, Molly had a feeling the man’s hands weren’t exactly steady.

“You really,” Caleb said, his tone flat and weary, “want to help?”

“As I said, I have no interest in prolonging your suffering.” Molly stood up, walked over, and held out his hand for the razor. “Come on. It will be over before you know it.”

Caleb hesitated, his blue eyes piercing Molly’s red ones. They were wary, like a cornered dog expecting a blow. Molly was considering walking out of the room— _have it your way_ —when Caleb finally lifted the razor and placed it in Molly’s hand.

_There we go._

“Move the chair closer to the bed.” As Caleb did that, Molly rummaged around in the small, rickety vanity set up in the corner. Bowl, pitcher of water—ah, there. The thinnest towel he’d ever seen and a small chunk of soap. It was questionable soap to be sure, but free of any strange hairs. He could only assume its odd shape was from the questionable bits being whittled away. He used the soap and water to work up a lather on the cloth, then on Caleb’s face. “She did a hell of a job,” Molly noted as he started shaving what was left of Caleb’s facial hair.

Caleb waited until the blade was removed from his cheek before speaking: “Am I supposed to be grateful?”

“I’d be. Not to her, just to whatever god you pray to. She could’ve taken off your cheek.” Molly resumed shaving. He noticed Caleb’s hand clenching into a fist, gripping at his knee. “Relax, Widogast. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Caleb hummed—not quite an _I don’t believe you_ sound, but not a completely trusting one, either. Molly shook his head and focused on the shaving. Foam and hair gave way to pale skin. It was probably the cleanest he’d seen Caleb. Even with them stopping more often, frequently enough to allow them to bathe, Caleb rarely got his face wet. He’d comb his hair enough to at least keep it from getting matted, he’d periodically wipe his face with a cloth, he’d wash his clothes if he had the chance. But Molly had never seen him put his head under the water, ever.

It was possible there was something to that. It was also possible that Caleb was just fucking _weird_. Molly often suspected that there was more to most people than they let on, even if he wasn’t interested in peeling back the layers. But with Caleb, the more he knew the man, the more he was convinced that Caleb had one layer of causeless neuroses and a bundle of quirks, all of which were just inherent to the man. No story; just a whole lot of weird.

He didn’t mind, though. He almost respected it for its simplicity.

At this close proximity, and with a lot of the dirt wiped away by the week of rain and the water and soap, Molly noticed a few details he hadn’t before. Caleb had freckles, small and pale, but still present. More noticeable was his complexion. The skin of his jaw and cheeks wasn’t _smooth_ per say—soft, but definitely pock-marked. Not the pox, Molly realized. He’d seen scars from the pox. This was different.

“Had a lot of spots as a kid?” he asked as he paused to clean the blade.

Caleb grimaced. “That noticeable?”

“You’re not the only person in the world. Nothing to be ashamed of.”  It explained why Caleb would want a beard, though—that and the fact that he seemed to lose a year with every inch of beard that was shaved away. “Shouldn’t have picked at it, though.”

That comment earned him an amused huff. “You sound like my mother.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Caleb didn’t answer. Molly shrugged and resumed shaving. “Now, _this_ is the tricky bit. Just…try not to move too much, all right?” Caleb didn’t protest as Molly tilted back his chin, though the grip on his knee tightened and he shut his eyes. “Come on, you know you can trust me. I’m good with a blade.”

There was that not-trusting-but-not-untrusting hum again. Molly took it was his go-ahead to get started.

It wasn’t long before the remaining beard on Caleb’s neck was shaved away, revealing more skin, a few more pock-marks, and a mole or especially dark freckle under his chin that Molly had never seen before. It probably hadn’t seen the light of day in years, now that he thought about it. Molly wiped the blade clean and held out the towel to Caleb. “See? Still alive.”

“Miraculous,” Caleb said. There was a slight, relieved tremor under his sarcasm, but he hid it well as he wiped his face. “If you’re so good with a blade, what happened to…?”

Of course he’d ask about those. Molly tired not to be too resentful, to tell himself that fair was fair, he _had_ tried to weasel an answer out of Caleb about the man’s mother. That didn’t stop him from bristling at the question. “I have these _because_ I’m good with a blade,” he said, with a tone that he hoped was final without being too aggressive. “You have your methods, I have mine.”

He expected Caleb to force the matter, but, after a quick stare, Caleb just shrugged. “Fair enough.” He wiped away the last of the soap near his ear and lowered the towel. “Well? How do I look?”

_You look like a twelve-year-old_.

“Younger,” Mollymauk said aloud instead.

From the look on Caleb’s face, he knew what that really meant. He only sighed and scratched his scalp. “It’s only hair,” he muttered, “it will grow.” Then, louder. “Thank you. I owe you.”

Molly closed the razor and held it back to Caleb. “How about this: you bring me something to eat up here instead of making me go back downstairs and I’ll consider us even.”

The comment earned Molly a chuckle, but nothing else. He couldn’t tell if Caleb had taken him seriously—he wasn’t even sure if he was serious, though the prospect of getting back in bed was _very_ alluring. Rain still pattered against the windows; the sunlight hadn’t gotten any stronger, enough to illuminate the room but not enough to fully convince him it was morning. “If anyone tries to bother me,” Molly said, making up his mind, “tell them I’ve gone back to sleep.”

“I will.”

Caleb left not long after. Molly heard Nott’s muffled voice on the other side of the door as Caleb shut it, Caleb’s slightly less muffled response— _I’m okay, kiddo, don’t worry_ —and not long after that, silence. Blessed, beautiful silence.

Molly lay back down and closed his eyes. He didn’t sleep, just rested. After some time passed, he heard footsteps, two sets, one larger and heavier, one smaller. A conversation lulled into silence at the door opened; not long after, he heard the clinking of a plate against the small table between his bed and the next one over, then a glass to follow. Molly opened his eyes in time to see a plane of some food, a glass of wine, and Caleb and Nott climbing into the furthest bed. Caleb put another plate on the other table and pulled out one of his books; Nott munched on a handful of bacon and curled up next to Caleb. The human glanced up at Molly once, briefly, and smiled.

He really did look like a bloody twelve-year-old without that beard.

Molly kept that thought to himself, choosing instead to smile back as he picked up the glass of wine and lifted it in quiet salute.

The rest of the morning was quiet—Caleb reading, Nott dozing back off on his lap with the last remnants of the bacon still clenched in her fists, Frumpkin moving from Caleb’s side and back to Molly’s chest when the tiefling finished eating and lay back down. He never really went back to sleep, but he _did_ let himself enjoy the feeling of being warm and comfortable.

With the way their lives had been going, gods only knew when they’d feel that way again.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick housekeeping notes: 
> 
> 1) This fic is partially inspired by [a headcanon post by loyle-trash](http://screechthemighty.tumblr.com/post/169700928968/loyle-trash-oops-headcanons-caleb-has-bad-acne) that involved Caleb having acne. As someone who struggles with that affliction (not bad but Very Annoying), I related a bit too hard, but my brain took it in an acne scar direction instead of a still-acne-prone direction because I'm a weirdo who wants more facial scars on my heroes. Basically our boy used to have cystic acne but it cleared up but left its mark. You just can't tell from the beard and the layer of dirt.
> 
> 2) For the record, yes, I did realize while writing that this fic is kinda sorta cosmic revenge against Liam for Vax shaving off half Grog's beard. That wasn't my intent going in but it was a great realization.
> 
> 3) I still don't know if there's more to Caleb's weird behavior (be it lyncanthropy, severe phobia wrt water, a combination of those two things, or anything else that we haven't thought of yet), and it's possible there is? But I'm super entertained by the thought that we're reading into nothing and he behaves the way he does because that's who he is as a person.
> 
> 4) If you're wondering where part two of that Matt/Jess trilogy is, I'm going to do my best to have the first chapter of part two released before Jessica Jones season two hits, I promise. Progress has been made. It's just been slow because Star Wars happened...then Titanfall...then Critical Role season two...I have a problem with fandom-hopping and impulse control is what I'm getting at here.


End file.
